


Come Back!

by sethra2000



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sethra2000/pseuds/sethra2000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another fic that is as olf as the Old Man himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Back!

“We’re through!”

Inwardly Methos flinched, as if struck by a stunning blow, the words shredding his soul cleaner than the sharpest blade. So Kronos had won again, had destroyed his life.... again. Outwardly his face was stone, as he nodded his head unable to find the voice to express the searing scream that bounced and echoed in his mind. Nooooooooo, please. Duncan, don’t abandon me. I cannot do this without you.  
It was after all the effect he had been looking for. To drive his precious Highland child away, to protect him from Kronos’ sick, perverted clutches. Because if his former master and lover should learn of his true relationship to MacLeod, should he have cause to come for the Scot, then Methos knew that he would loose the only thing he felt was worth protecting, worth dying for. Because Kronos did not share.  
But oh Gods how it hurt to see the pain and betrayal in those soulful brown eyes, that pleaded for him to say it wasn’t true, that it was some sick joke. Methos watched as his magnificent warrior turned and stalked back to his car, hardening his own heart against the other’s pain, the rigid back speaking more loudly than any words of the immense anger and hurt held ruthlessly in check. The leather jacket was removed and roughly thrown into the car before MacLeod drove away.  
Methos slumped against the side of the Rover, its solidity a comfort in a world now reeling in chaos. His life was destroyed. With a half sigh, half sob he removed his own coat, echoing his former lover’s actions, before he got into the drivers seat and gripped the steering wheel. Hot tears flowed unbidden down his face leaving scalding trails on his chilled skin, as the racking sobs broke through his weakened control and he gave himself over to the crushing grief that threatened to overwhelm him.

Duncan took one last look at the man he had called lover. A man he had thought he knew, a man who was now a stranger to him. Death on a Horse. Methos’ words echoed in his mind, conjuring images of chaos and bloodshed, terror and pain. He swallowed against the rising grief and anger that sought to smash his future hopes and dreams of a life with Methos on the rocks of betrayal. He could not love...., could not be in love with a man who had done the things that Methos said he had done..… Could he? The almost gleeful way that his lover had described the deeds of his past, I didn’t do it for revenge and I didn’t do it for greed. I did it, because I liked it! The cruel words returned to taunt him. That had not been the man he loved. Methos stood his face impassive and Duncan could read no regret, no remorse on his lover’s face. Gunning the engine he swung the car around, taking out his anger on the road.

**************

Mac got maybe half a mile before he was forced to pull over, his vision obscured by the tears of despair that he could not stop from falling. He felt overwhelmed by the betrayal from a man he had trusted with his life, had entrusted with his soul. Mac found himself clutching the steering wheel in a crushing grip and had to will his hands to loosen, with an almost sob he bent forward, resting his forehead on his hands and fought the feel of his world being pulled out from underneath him. Not since Tessa’s death had he felt this way, the sickening gut wrenching nausea of despair and defeat and helplessness. Duncan took a deep breath as his body took over from his abused mind and did what it needed to survive. He felt the familiar calming effect of his meditation exercises and became curiously detached, almost like his subconscious was trying to tell him something. Maybe he had asked the wrong question, it said. The question was not ‘could he love someone who had done those things?’, but, ‘could someone who had done the things that Death had done, love at all?’ Joe’s words came back to him then.... This is ‘our’ Methos we’re taking about here, right? Can you imagine ‘him’ murdering women and children for pleasure?.  
And the answer was no. The man Methos was now was not Death. Death could never have fallen in love with Alexa, could not still mourn her passing, could not love him, could not love at all.  
Slowly as the fog of his rage and pain cleared, he saw what Methos had done, saw the deception for what it really was and his anger flared anew. But this time aimed at himself, because he had fallen for it. Duncan swore viciously, that infuriating, manipulating son-of-a-bitch had played him like the expert Methos was, had pushed all his buttons and made him leave.  
“Bastard!” Duncan grated out loud, slamming his fists down on the steering wheel. Well, we’d just see about that!.   
Glancing at his watch Duncan was shocked to see that only ten minutes had passed since he had left Methos standing outside the apartment building. Gods! it seemed a lifetime ago. Starting the engine he hastily checked the traffic before pulling a reckless U-turn and speeding back to Methos’ apartment, praying all the time that the infuriating bastard hadn’t left yet.

**********

Relief flooded through the turmoil of his emotions as Duncan spotted the Rover, still parked as it had been when he left. Exiting the car he was surprised to see Methos sitting in the vehicle apparently asleep across the steering wheel. It was not until he got close enough to feel the first wash of his lover’s presence that he realised the other was not sleeping as he saw the slender frame shudder and heard the muffled sound of weeping, but the really frightening thing was, that Methos did not even react to his presence.  
Mac hastily revised his initial angry remarks when he realised what this deception had cost his lover and cursed himself for a selfish fool. He had abandoned Methos, had judged him unworthy and left him to face Kronos alone. He knew that Methos would forgive him, but could he forgive himself. He had done something he thought he would never do, abandoned a friend in need and it was inexcusable.   
Then Duncan’s guilt turned to anger as he remembered that he had been manipulated into this action and regardless of Methos’ motives he would show the contrary bastard the error of his ways, and then they would damn well solve this problem together.  
Yanking open the door he reached inside and grabbed his startled lover by the clothes hauling him out of the Rover and slamming him against the side. Methos was so startled by his action that for a brief second Duncan could see his lover’s pain written plain to see, before the familiar and hated mask was drawn over the changeable green eyes.

His face still wet with tears Methos desperately tried to hide his feelings, but words he did not want to say forced themselves out of his mouth. “Come to finish the job MacLeod! Come to kill Death!?” he taunted.  
Duncan smiled inwardly at the desperate attempt to complete the severing of their relationship, and to prove once and for all to his stubborn lover that it was not going to happen, he took the sneering mouth in his and with ruthless efficiency proceeded to kiss the other into submission, pleased when he saw Methos’ eyes widen impossibly in shock.  
No, no, no, no, no, this was not how it was supposed to be! Methos thought frantically to himself, as he was thoroughly and expertly seduced by the hot mouth that invaded his being, paralysing his mind and forcing his body to betray him. You were supposed to leave, Duncan. To leave and be safe. Why did you come back?.  
When he felt the resistance and fight drain from the body plastered against him, Duncan relented and let go of the bruised mouth, tasting blood and absently wondered whose it was.  
“Bastard!” Methos whispered brokenly.  
“Don’t you ever, and I mean ever do that to me again.” Duncan intoned finality in his voice.  
“Why MacLeod? Why did you come back?”  
Duncan took the tear stained face gently in his hands, remembering the time that they had been sitting by Alexa’s grave and Methos had haltingly told him of how he and Alexa had met. “In the words of a much loved friend, who can sometimes be an incredibly old fool, . . because the alternative is unthinkable.” Seeing the beloved eyes widen in comprehension he took the invitingly open mouth again, only this time in an infinitely gentle caress. Duncan chuckled when he felt his lover’s body melt into his, strong arms circling his waist as the other became a willing participant in the kiss.  
Parting reluctantly, Duncan gentled away the last of the tears from his lover’s face. “We do this together Methos, from now on we are together. Do you understand me?”  
Methos could only gaze in wonder at the man in his arms, hearing he words but not quite able to believe that they had been said. This was too great a gift and the price to high, he could not accept.  
Duncan sensed the doubt in Methos, could see the questions and fears that darted like silverfish in the green depths of his lover’s eyes. Methos feared for him and that sent a thrill through his body as Duncan realised the depth of his lover’s unvoiced feelings. Placing a brief kiss on the beautiful mouth Duncan smiled. “I will protect you, and you will protect me. That is what friends, shield mates, Brothers do. Only together can we face this, alone we both loose.” Duncan finished, willing the man in his arms to understand, to accept his trust. Again Duncan took his lover’s mouth, demanding entry into the sweet hot depths.  
Methos was stunned, the enormity of Duncan’s gift slowly registering on his emotionally laden mind. Never in his entire five thousand years had anyone cared this much, to offer their life, their soul into his keeping. The depth of trust in the gesture almost incomprehensible to a man who could not ever remember trusting another willingly, anyone that is, except this man his beautiful Highland child. With a soul deep groan Methos gave into the inevitable and let the other in, needing the reassurance desperately, and feeling his lover’s grin of triumph against his lips. Coming up for air, Methos studied the smug look in Duncan’s eyes. “Damn you, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.” He whispered, resting his forehead on the broad shoulder, revelling in the feel of the strong arms around him, practically holding him up.  
“I love you too, Old Man,” Duncan murmured, nipping at the pale slender neck. “And don’t you ever forget it!” He finished, biting down hard to emphasise his point and absorbing the shivers of pleasure that coursed through the slender body as a result. Soothing the wound with his tongue, he continued down to the inviting juncture of neck and shoulder, pulling the neck of the other man’s jersey aside to gain better access.  
“MacLeod?!”  
“What?” Mac asked innocently, smiling at the exasperation in the tone.  
“Not now honey, I’ve got a headache.” Methos shot back sarcastically  
Duncan laughed, understanding that Methos needed time to recover from the emotional roller-coaster ride. He had to admit that he needed some time himself. It was just that having this sensual, incredibly desirable man plastered against him was becoming too much of a temptation. Reluctantly he broke the embrace, gently letting go of Methos. “All right, but I will finish this...., eventually.” He ended with a grin. “Come back to the barge, I’ll cook you dinner. Besides, we need to talk about Kronos. We need a plan. Honest.” He added when the other shot him a suspicious look.  
Too exhausted to argue with the persuasive Scot, Methos gave in with only a small amount of grumbling. In truth he did not want to argue. “Ok, but I warn you, try anything and you’re dead meat.” He retorted.  
Duncan snorted at the half-hearted threat, ignoring the finger that stabbed at this chest. “Scouts honour,” he replied, raising his hand in the Boy Scout’s salute, whilst crossing his fingers behind his back. The wicked grin that flashed across his lover’s face was like a rainbow after the passing of a storm. The answer was, Yes.... Oh yes.... He had made the right decision in returning.

End


End file.
